


Is it Possible to Reap Your Own Soul

by Southern_Breeze



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Memories, Past Lives, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Breeze/pseuds/Southern_Breeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronald goes out to collect a particular soul but finds himself plagued by the repeated question, "Is it possible to reap your own soul?" My first kuroshitsuji fan fic deals with the idea of previous lives of reapers and what might happen with memories that should have been forgotten. Constructive criticism is not only appreciated but welcomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is it Possible to Reap Your Own Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first story, and it was risky trying for an origin-like story. As many of you may know, this story is no longer canon. It's not precisely AU, but it's just my original interpretation that is now discredited by the manga. However, the questions raised in this story are still valid for the most part. I could tweak it to make this story fit, but I decided to leave it as is for now. Thanks. :)

Standard Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix Co., Ltd. Used without permission but with a lot of respect.

**Is It Possible To Reap Your Own Soul**

_“Is it possible to reap your own soul?”_

The freezing rain, which had been falling steadily for much of the day, was slowly turning into a thick, wet snow that seemed more fitting for the season. The brown grass was already being coated in the soggy, white blanket although patches of black mud still showed through in places like dark freckles on a pale face. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sounds of music and brief punctuations of shrill laughter from a late Christmas Eve party drifted on the crystalline air. Apparently someone had gotten into the Christmas spirit – or at least the Christmas spirits this holiday evening.

Ronald Knox stood silently beneath a barren tree as he tried to block out the sounds of the distant party. He would have loved to attend, or at least taken the time to check it out, but he had a job to do. Sighing softly, he pushed back a few strands of blonde hair that had become plastered to his face by the icy tendrils of rainwater and melting snow as he kept his attention on the small house nearby. As he watched, he saw the door open as a figure swathed in an oversized red coat stepped outside and walked across the porch. Even from this distance, he knew that she was the one. This woman was the one scheduled to die.

_“Is it possible to reap your own soul?”_

He ignored the voice as he consulted his list again, although it was an act designed more to block out the repeated question than actual necessity. Her name was Jane Frederich, age twenty-four, and judging by the picture she was a somewhat pretty woman. She didn’t look to be the type to turn heads everywhere she went, but she was attractive enough that Ronald would have enjoyed talking and flirting with her had there ever been an opportunity. “Her loss,” he whispered to himself and chuckled softly, but a small part of him recognized there was no real humor in the situation.

Unaware of his presence or her own impending death, Jane slushed through the snow to a small shed located next to the house. She stepped inside, and Ronald could hear her rummaging through miscellaneous items before emerging once again with a heavy object, which she brought back to the porch. He watched as she worked on whatever she had retrieved from the shed, but this was becoming somewhat boring. He knew that she was supposed to die because of an accident with an axe, and so far there wasn’t an axe in sight. Sighing again, he leaned against the tree to wait.

_“Is it possible to reap your own soul?”_

Ronald was becoming annoyed with the voice that kept echoing in his head. It was his voice. A much younger and more naïve version, but it was still his voice. He had asked that question so many years prior. He wasn’t sure how long exactly. After a while, the passage of time seems really meaningless when you live for so long, but he couldn’t understand why his mind had chosen this particular night to become fixated with that question he had asked so long ago. Ronald shifted his weight against the cold bark as Jane continued struggling with the heavy item she had placed on the porch. He checked his watch and saw that he still had some time to wait, so he allowed his mind to drift back in time to think about that day.

((x))

William stood ramrod straight at the head of the long, oak table as his eyes scanned all who were in attendance. Ronald turned to follow his gaze and barely held back a laugh as he noticed the rather obvious difference between the handful of recent graduates and the more experienced workers like himself. All but one of these newest were hunched over sheets of paper, diligently writing down each word that William said as if they feared it was going to be on some sort of test. Everyone else was merely sitting back quietly as they listened, or at least pretended to listen, to their supervisor – except for Grell. The flamboyant redhead was sitting at the far end of the table attending to his nails with exaggerated boredom, although Ronald knew it was more of an act than an actual portrayal of Grell’s feelings. While it was true that Grell was annoyed because William had instituted a rule that Grell had to sit as far away from him as possible during these mandatory meetings, Grell was acting this way mostly because it was expected of him. In one of his more honest moments, he had admitted to Ronald that he knew he was the biggest source of gossip in the office so he figured me might as well live up to the hype. Besides, it got under William’s skin, which was an added bonus to the red reaper as it might mean more attention from their professional, typically cold boss.

Although William’s eyes were hidden by the glare of the lights reflecting on the lenses of his glasses, Ronald saw his superior’s brow tighten slowly as his gaze swept past Grell, but he didn’t say anything aloud. “Does anyone have any questions or concerns?” he asked. It was a routine question, and Ronald didn’t expect anyone to respond with more than a shake of the head indicating the negative, but a single, pale hand shot up. It was one of the recent graduates. Ronald tried to recall his name as the new field agent sat there with his hand up, waiting to be called on, as if he thought he was still in the academy.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor?” William prompted.

Taylor, Matthew Taylor – that was the young reaper’s name. Ronald silently congratulated himself for remembering his first name as Matthew slowly stood. He paused before speaking as his two-toned eyes scanned the room.

Ronald had often heard of himself as being described as boyish in appearance, but he thought he looked incredibly mature in comparison to Matthew. The younger reaper had a round, cherubim face that was dotted generously with freckles across the bridge of the pale, slightly turned-up nose and full cheeks. He ran one hand through his brown, unruly hair as he tugged at his ill-fitting jacket with the other. He truly looked like a little boy who had thrown on daddy’s suit one day to try and act like an adult.

“Well?” William asked, growing impatient. Ronald knew that he wanted to be done with this meeting so that they could all get back to work.

“I have memories!” Matthew suddenly cried, his voice rising so that it came out in a bit of a squeak, “Memories from my life – of when I was human!” Everyone gasped as all eyes turned to look at the boy. Even the clock on the wall seem to slow in its continual ticking away of the minutes as Matthew began to shift from foot to foot. He seemed uncomfortable with all of the scrutiny and tears began welling up in his large eyes.

William cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “If that’s true, Mr. Taylor,” he began, “then you should go and see the counselor. I’ll let her know that you need to see her right away.”

“I can remember how I died!” Matthew shouted as if he hadn’t heard William. “I’m supposed to be dead! I should be! I deserve to be!” Tears were running freely now down his face and dripping from his chin to land on the heavy table. Briefly he looked around the room, perhaps looking for some form of understanding, but no one spoke. Ronald felt at a loss for words, and he simply stared at the obviously upset young man.

“I’m supposed to be dead,” Matthew repeated hoarsely. He threw his right hand back and his scythe, the scythe which had been issued to him only a week prior, appeared in his grasp. With a swift motion, he swung his arm around with the obvious intent of ripping out his own throat to bring about the death he apparently thought he deserved.

He might have been successful in his suicide attempt, but Eric Slingby happened to be sitting just to Matthew’s right, and he was able to act quickly. Just as the scythe finished its arc towards the young reaper’s throat, Eric grabbed it with a quick and steady hand. The tool cut slightly into the tender flesh of Matthew’s neck. Scarlet droplets of blood splattered unto Eric’s previously unsoiled shirt and the blue-tinted lenses of his glasses, but it was obvious that Matthew would not be die by his own hand on this occasion. Matthew collapsed onto Eric as sobs wracked his slender frame.

“Slingby,” William instructed, “Please take Mr. Taylor to the infirmary. I need to report this incident.”

Eric nodded slightly and he turned to leave, but Matthew’s feet were dragging the carpet as if he had suddenly forgotten how to walk. Almost as if on cue, Alan Humphries jumped up and moved to the other side of the injured reaper, his feathery brown hair dancing with the sudden movement. “I’ll help,” the smaller man said. Although his words were no doubt directed towards William, his gentle eyes were actually focused on Eric.

“I’ll get someone from janitorial to clean up,” stated William in a matter of fact tone as Matthew was taken from the room. “This meeting is adjourned. Everyone else should get back to work. We’re already behind as it is.” He shook his head and quickly left without another word.

Slowly, everyone else stood up as they all seemed to be in shock at what they had just witnessed. It wasn’t uncommon for a new worker to suddenly realize that just didn’t have what it takes to be a field agent, but typically they were just quietly transferred to another department without anyone commenting or even noticing. Besides, there seemed to be more to this incident than usual. Matthew had stated that not only should he be dead, but he deserved to be, and Ronald had no idea why he would feel that way. As he slowly walked around the table, he noticed a spot of blood that had blended with one of Matthew’s tears on the wooden surface, and he couldn’t help but think about memories, which was a taboo subject among reapers. Could simply remembering their lives before be enough to drive any reaper to suicide?

Without voicing his thoughts, he made his way down the hall to the office that he shared with Grell. Neither of them had any jobs to do until later that day, so it was just a time to get caught up on paperwork, and he wasn’t nearly as behind as his mentor. Taking a moment, he looked around their office and he inwardly winced at the decorations. It was near Christmas and only a few hours prior he had been joking with Grell about the number of oversized red ribbons that had been hung haphazardly on the walls. Before he had thought that it had looked garish, but now the velvet ribbons seemed faded and pale – as if the events at the meeting had sucked all the color out of the holiday. As he considered this, he saw Eric and Alan walk past the open door as they were apparently returning from the infirmary. There were more red stains on Eric’s shirt and his normally wavy, blonde hair was hanging limply over his forehead, but what caught Ronald’s eyes was the fact that both looked a little pale and strained. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was a reflection of his own face.

During all this time, Grell had been sitting uncharacteristically quiet at his desk and, at first glance, appeared to be diligently making an effort to get caught up on paperwork. Ronald knew, however, that he had been staring at the same sheet of paper since they had returned to their desks. “Senior Sutcliff?” he began in a soft tone.

“Hmm?” Grell responded, eyes still glued to the paper.

“Do you have memories of your life before?” Ronald asked.

Grell paused as he raised his eyes and glanced at Ronald over the top of his red framed glasses. It was something that Grell did frequently, and Ronald couldn’t help but wonder how well he could actually see when he did it. After a few minutes, Grell waved his left hand as if trying to shoo away an annoying insect. “You shouldn’t focus on memories,” he finally answered as he continued the motion with his hand, “It will just cause trouble.” Dropping his gaze once more he continue to pursue that same piece of paper.

Ronald frowned. It was the same thing that everyone was told in the academy – the textbook answer, and it was rare for Grell to say or do anything textbook. Besides, he couldn’t help but notice that the redhead had avoided answering the actual question. “But don’t you ever think about it?” he insisted, “Don’t you wonder about who you were, what you did, and how you died?”

Grell looked up and, for the first time since that morning, his typical, sharp-toothed smile graced his face. “Oh, I know that when I died it must have been beautiful and tragic!” he exclaimed in a sweeping tone, “The velvet curtain fell on my beautiful, prone body that was stretched upon that blood red blanket of death as a love stood by my side with a broken heart!”

Ronald resisted an urge to laugh, but he relaxed slightly. At least that answer had sounded more like the Grell he knew. “Have you ever thought about looking up your own cinematic record?” continued Ronald, “There’s no rule against it.”

“There’s no rule because it’s nearly impossible,” Grell retorted, leaning forward slightly so that his crimson hair spilled onto his desk. “The names and faces we have now are not those we had in life. You know that. Where would you even start? Besides if you did, by some miracle, actually find your own record, who’s to say you’d even recognize it.”

“And that’s if your record’s even in the library,” Ronald agreed as he slumped back in his chair.

It was Grell’s turn to look intrigued. “Why wouldn’t it be in the library?” he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“It’s just a rumor I heard,” Ronald replied as he leaned forward and met the older reaper’s gaze intently. “You know how the higher planes exist sort of outside of time.”

Grell nodded. “I’ve heard that,” he said, “Although I don’t quite understand it.” 

“Well, from what I understand,” Ronald explained, “Is that there isn’t exactly a past, present, or future in the higher plane. It just exists – outside of any sort of time constraint. And they’re the ones who decides who becomes reapers.”

“Let me get this straight,” Grell began, “The very ones that choose which people will become reapers are making the decisions from a place that exists outside of time. So, what does that mean exactly?”

“Think about it for a minute,” Ronald insisted. His voice made him sound as if he was far more fascinated with this subject then he actually was, but it did help distract him from thinking about what had happened earlier. “If there is no past, present, or future, where they are making these decisions then who’s to say that someone who becomes a reaper now didn’t die a hundred years ago or…” His voice trailed off as he hoped that Grell could follow his train of thought.

“Or they might not even die for a hundred years,” Grell finished. “So you’re saying that someone could be a reaper before they’re even dead in the mortal realm?”

“Before they’re even born!” exclaimed Ronald, “Which leads to one very interesting question.” He stood up and leaned forward with his palms down on his desk. “Is it possible to reap your own soul?”

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question,” an authoritative voice announced from the doorway.

Ronald immediately fell back into his seat as he watched William walk into the room. He was more than a little apprehensive about how much their supervisor had heard of their conversation. “We were just talking,” Ronald offered as a weak explanation.

William adjusted his glasses as his firm gaze pinned down the blonde like a wriggling insect. “But it was not an appropriate topic for the office, Knox,” he stated firmly before turning towards Grell. “Sutcliff, where are those reports that were due on my desk yesterday? If you have time to talk with Knox about such nonsense, then I’d think you would be caught up on your paperwork for once.”

“But Will,” Grell whined, pushing out his bottom lip in a mock pout.

((x))

“Thwack!”

The hollow sound of the axe striking the trunk of a tree brought Ronald back to the present. During the time he had been thinking about the past, Jane had retrieved the axe and was now attempting to cut down a small tree next to her porch, although she was actually holding the axe much too low to be very effective. Silently, Ronald watched and waited for the inevitable.

He supposed that he had been so consumed with the memories about the time he had asked Grell about the possibility of reaping your own soul simply because there were so many similarities in that day and the events of earlier this evening. Just as before, he was sitting at a desk across from Grell getting caught up in some last minute paperwork. He actually had his own office these days, but some renovations needed to be made after an unfortunate leak in the ceiling, so he had moved back into Grell’s office in the meantime. His old desk was still there just as it had always been, although Grell had turned it into something of a makeup counter during his absence. After cleaning off the foundation, mascara, lipstick, and who knows what else, Ronald had settled in and it was just like old times. Just like before, Grell and he were talking when William had suddenly made an appearance. This particular job had originally been Grell’s assignment, but William had appeared in the office to reassign it to Ronald since Grell was so far behind with paperwork. Grell had whined and pouted, but William had been steadfast in his decision. Although Ronald, like Grell, certainly preferred reaping to dotting all the i’s and crossing the t’s on paperwork, he had wanted to protest since he was all ready to go to the office Christmas party, but he knew there was no arguing with William. At least he’d still have time to make an appearance at the party once this was finished.

The axe hit a knot in wood and bounced back at an angle. Before Jane could maneuver out of the way, the axe cut deep into her upper thigh. She let out of cry of surprise and pain as she dropped the axe and tried to turn towards the house, but her legs failed her. Falling in a crumpled heap, she made a feeble effort to crawl to the porch, but there was no real point. Any efforts for survival became null and void the moment the axe had sliced into her femoral artery

Ronald leapt to her side casually, and he briefly made eye contact with the fallen woman before she lost consciousness. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the dying to briefly glimpse the face of their reaper. The final frame of many cinematic records could testify to that fact, but Ronald was caught off guard by what he saw. He took a stumbling step backwards, and slipped in the wet snow causing him to fall hard on his rear. A distant part of his mind registered the moisture and mud soaking through the seat of his pants, but he was unable to focus on the discomfort. “This can’t be right,” he mumbled to himself, but he couldn’t believe his own words. He knew exactly what he had seen when looked into her eyes.

This was Grell.

It wasn’t something he could have ever explained, and he doubted there even was an explanation to be given. Carefully, he stood as he looked down at the fallen woman, searching for anything that would verify what his mind had already accepted. Other than the slightest tint of auburn in her otherwise brown hair, she didn’t really look anything like Grell. Her coat had fallen open and he saw that she was, or rather had been, a small woman with delicate, almost child-like features, and actually prettier than the picture had led Ronald to believe. He watched quietly as the snow fell and clung to her eyelashes and coated her pale lips like a shimmering gloss, and for one of the first times in his time as a reaper he felt a pang in his heart about the death of this woman. He wished he had had a chance to know her.

Ronald shook his head slightly as if trying to physically dispel the thoughts from his mind. If he was right, and he was certain that he was, he did know her in one sense. Hands still trembling slightly, he prepared to retrieve the records. For once, he wished he hadn’t customized his own scythe (lawn mower…these days everyone just referred to it as a lawn mower) to be so loud and brutally efficient because it almost seemed disrespectful somehow. He had to remind himself that no matter who this was to become, for the moment he was working with Jane and her body was far past physical sensation.

“Just like any other job,” he said aloud, not actually believing his own words, and he cut deep into her chest. Her records shot up into the darkened sky and glimmered in the falling snow in an oddly beautiful way. As usual, there was a bit of a struggle, but Ronald really couldn’t expect anything less from the soul of…

Wait! He had to stop thinking like that. This was not Grell. Even if this soul was going to be reincarnated as the feisty redhead he knew so well, at this point it was simply Jane Frederich, and he had to think that way in order to get this job finished. After a few minutes, he got the situation under control and he settled down to examine the records. He couldn’t help but admit to himself that a small part of him was searching for some little thing that would make Jane’s life extraordinary – that one thing that would lead her to be reborn as a reaper. It was a mystery why some were chosen to be reborn and others not, and another taboo subject which reapers usually only discussed in whispers. Was it something about a person’s life or some little part of their soul that set them apart? Was it a reward; a second chance at life? Or was it a punishment to live an eternity of servitude and never be permitted to see Heaven? Ronald leaned forward hoping to find something that could lead to the answer.

Unfortunately, he found no such thing in Jane’s records. In fact, her life was the kind that Grell would have described as boring. Ronald watched closely and saw that Jane had been the only child of a moderately wealthy family. Her clothing, her possessions, and even her appearance seem to say that she was somewhat spoiled yet obedient child faithfully fulfilling the role in which she had been cast. Finally, she did something that was unexpected of her. Instead of marrying the man that her family had chosen, she had left home to pursue her dream of becoming an actress upon the stage. Ronald couldn’t help but chuckle because at least Jane’s dream of a life in the shimmering spotlight was something that she had in common with Grell.

Dark, depressing images followed. Jane struggling to survive as she continued to pursue her dream, and crying at night as she thought of her family and all that she had given up. He saw her working as a waitress at a questionable diner, but even in her records he could see the fierce determination in her eyes. Finally, she got the call for which she had been waiting, she had been chosen to be the star in a new production that would open just after the New Year. Thrilled, she had practically danced away from her job as her boss shouted at her to hurry up and get back to work, but she didn’t even look back.

Ronald was could tell that he was nearing the end of her life now. Before his eyes, he watched as Jane had returned to her small house and had called her parents. She had told them of the good news and cried when they were supportive. She then invited them to her house for Christmas dinner, but, after hanging up the phone, she had seemed depressed that her house had looked so gloomy and plain. In that fateful moment, she had decided that what she needed was a Christmas tree, and had set out to cut a small Blue Spruce that was growing next to her porch. Throwing on a heavy coat, she had hurried out to the shed, but what Ronald saw next actually gave him a bit of surprise. When he had been standing under the tree, he could never clearly see what she had retrieved from the shed originally. He had seen it wasn’t an axe, so he hadn’t been interested to really give it much thought. Now, in Jane’s memory he clearly saw what it was she had initially carried to the porch. It was a chainsaw.

With a gasp, Ronald quickly turned his head and saw the chainsaw setting innocently on the porch where Jane had left it. A single ray of moonlight managed to pierce through the snow laden clouds and winked upon the blade, almost as if it was mocking him for not noticing sooner. He had trouble tearing his eyes away, but he knew he had to watch the rest of this record.

There were only a few more frames, and Ronald saw in surprise that Jane had struggled trying to start the chainsaw for quite some time before finally giving up and decided to use the axe instead. It was obvious that she had never used an axe before, and even in her own memory Ronald could see that she was holding the axe incorrectly. He involuntarily winced as he watched the axe bounce back and strike her thigh. Falling in the snow, she had been struggling to crawl to safety which she apparently had sensed someone standing nearby, so she had turned to look. The final frame was his own face looking down at her with surprised recognition.

Feeling depressed, he stood and regarded the body for a final time. The snow crystals shimmered on her still form as the deep red blood from her wound had stained the surrounding snow and gave the appearance of crimson wings. In one way, Grell had been right. The death was beautiful and tragic and the blood had created a blanket of red death beneath the body. As for the love standing by his side with a broken heart? Well, he certainly cared for Grell, although not in a romantic way, and it did hurt to look down at the body at this moment. It was strange and foolish in a sense because he knew that Grell was safe and probably still in the office, but witnessing this death had still been difficult.

Slowly, he turned and started to leave the scene, but he felt his eyes being drawn back to the porch – back to the chainsaw he had noticed only moments earlier. When chainsaws were first becoming popular and wildly used in the mortal world, Grell had been quick to say how the design had been his idea originally and that the humans had simply stolen it. In truth, their realm was always a little more advanced than the human one, so no one really paid it all that much attention, although now everyone referred to it as a chainsaw instead of death scythe. Of course, a similar thing had happened with Ronald and lawn mowers, but what he had never told anyone was that Grell had assisted him in the design and the actual mechanics.

Seeing there was really little else that he could do here, he created a portal and wordlessly returned to his realm. Slowly and silently he entered the main building and walked down the hallways until he could see the open door of Grell’s office. He walked just close enough so that he could look inside and stood to watch his friend for a few minutes. The red reaper hadn’t noticed him yet as he actually seemed to be busy for once, and Ronald just stood there staring as he thought about this night’s events. He had no illusions about telling Grell about what had happened. Nothing could be gained by telling Grell who he had been in life – a struggling and unsuccessful actress who had died alone, except for Ronald, on Christmas Eve. Yet, he felt like he should still say or do something, but he was at a loss for what.

There was movement at the far end of the hall and Ronald glanced up only to see William standing there. For several minutes, they stood staring at one another without words, until William nodded his head almost imperceptibly, and the truth of the situation suddenly bloomed in Ronald’s mind. William had known. Someone he had known that Jane Frederich was actually Grell, and that was the real reason he wanted Ronald to be the one to complete the job. Saying that Grell was too far behind on paperwork had only been an excuse. Ronald was more than a little surprised at this revelation, but he simply nodded his head to indicate that he understood. After his nod, William turned and disappeared around a nearby corner leaving Ronald alone in the hallway once more. Taking a deep breath, Ronald tried to walk casually into the Grell’s office.

As he stepped inside, Grell looked up at him and offered a friendly smile. “How did it go?” he asked.

Ronald returned the smile, although it felt a bit like an ill-fitting mask on his face. “Typical assignment,” he said, “Just a freak holiday accident.” He hoped that Grell wouldn’t catch on to the deception that he was leaving out some major details.

Grell eyed him carefully. “You’re muddy,” he stated, “Do you have a spare change of clothes in your office? You probably want to change before going to the party.” He sighed loudly and dramatically. “At least one of us will be able to go. William says I have to sit here until I get all of this done. That man is a slave driver - a cold, handsome task master.” His voice trailed off at the end as his green-gold eyes became unfocused, and Ronald knew with certainty that he didn’t even want to know exactly what Grell was thinking of at that moment.

Ronald stepped closer to Grell’s desk. “Actually,” he began, motioning towards the stack of paperwork, “I thought maybe I’d help with some of these.”

Grell blinked suddenly as he awoke from his daydream. “Ronald Knox doesn’t want to hurry off to some party?” he questioned as he theatrically jumped to his feet. “Are you sick? Do you have a fever?” He placed the back of his hand on the younger reaper’s forehead and managed to feign concern rather well.

Ronald laughed as they both knew that it was impossible for him to be sick. “No, I just wanted to give you a hand. If we hurry, we both can go to the party.”

For a minute, the redhead still seemed uncertain, but then he smiled brightly. “Hey, I’m not arguing with free help,” he announced, as he handed over some papers. “If anything needs my signature, just lay it to the side. Okay?”

It was just like old times, and Ronald managed an actual smile. “Okay,” he agreed and he turned and walked over to his desk. As he set the papers down, he risked a quick glance at Grell. The question, that same question that had plagued him all night, rose up in his mind once more, but this time there was an answer.

_Is it possible to reap your own soul?_

_It is possible, but not if there’s someone who cares looking out for you._

**AN: First off, let me say thank you to everyone who has read my story. This was my first Black Butler fan fic, and a bit of learning experience. I hope that everyone enjoyed it. Now on to the notes.**

**• In my originally draft, the attempted suicide of Matthew was not show. The flashback began with Ronald and Grell simply talking about it. In the end, I decided to write in the scene to avoid having a flashback in a flashback. As such, I had to flesh out the character of Matthew. I actually did write out an entire story for him, although I couldn’t really include it.**

**• Eric and Alan also weren’t in my original story outline but fit too well in the attempted suicide section to leave out.**

**• I wrote out more of Jane’s story as well. I toyed with having it as a flashback, but most of it is rather uninteresting. One part I had to leave out dealt with a near marriage and the regret that she might not ever have a family of her own.**


End file.
